


War of the Roses

by OhanaMeansEvan



Category: Brothers By Blood
Genre: Ace/Demiromantic Gail, Agender Eden, F/F, M/M, Modern AU, rarepair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9354569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhanaMeansEvan/pseuds/OhanaMeansEvan
Summary: Parker and Evan, blooming floral prodigies, are sent to New York to make Hawai'i proud and finally make it big in the Rose Parade. But the city that never sleeps isn't about to lay down and let the island floral fighters take the big prize, and the brothers will have to fight against designer stores with prestige, money, and power. Fortunately, the pair has one or two cute caterers and an enamored saboteur on their side, all fighting for Evan's final transition and Parker's peace of mind.





	1. Rose to the Occasion

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to rarepair hell, I'll be your tour guide. Enjoy, comment, critique, and most of all, #LetTheBrothersRest2017

"How do fucking buildings make me feel inferior."

"I mean-"

"No, we just got here. You don't need a bloody nose."

Parker snorted and lightly punched Evan's shoulder, then popped the trunk of their beat-up van. 

Evan lovingly stroked the peeling "Aloalo Hibiscus" decal on its side and sighed contentedly. "You got us here boo. All the way across the ocean, from hick town to New York city."

"Pastor Chris would kick your ass if he heard you call our hometown that."

"I'd let him do something else to your ass if you asked nicely, " Evan sang, driving an elbow into Parker's side.

Parker arched an eyebrow as he effortlessly unloaded 62 pounds of floral tools onto the smooth concrete of the convention center's adjoining warehouse. "Unholy swine."

"He certainly looks nice in the Easter robes. White is definitely his color."

"This is why we're atheists, Evan. We'd be burned at the stake."

"No, I'd burn when he threw holy water on me."

They bantered as they unloaded most of their floral supplies into the cavernous warehouse, settling into the ease of brotherhood despite the foreign skyline of New York City breathing down their necks. They had journeyed from the distant teal coasts and tiny colorful storefronts of Hawai'i to the monochrome vertical city for the Rose Parade. The Rose Parade was the biggest, baddest event in the floral design world, and creating a winning float came with name recognition and a hefty cash prize. Evan and Parker had saved for four years to come here, and had only succeeded when the state of Hawai'i had given them patronage after the state fair. Evan suspected that they would be doing legislature dinner arrangements for the rest of their lives, but it was a small price to pay for the competition.   
Parker came back with a sheaf of paperwork and a cup of coffee, eliciting an exhausted groan from Evan. "Honestly, do they need us to sign a disclaimer for ever rose?"

Parker was cut off by a sudden rush of bass from behind them, cut through with an irritated hiss. "Cece, you have to wait until the chorus."

"I guess so, seeing as whatever dignity we had is now gone."

Parker and Evan turned to be confronted with the sight of a bright white GTR Nismo bedecked in abstract renditions of black lilies and an occasional random rune. "Welcome to New York" was blaring at a quality that walked the fine line from improbable to impossible, and a matching well-dressed person was draped out the passenger window in an artistic, seductive, and clearly calculated way. 

"Hey cutie, here to check out the goods? I have some hundred dollar bouquets in the back, and a little something if those don't do the trick," the person purred, running a perfectly manicured hand through perfectly moussed blond hair.   
Evan was hit with a heat wave of annoyance and... annoyance. Parker stepped forward, clearly not feeling the latter version, and leaned against the sleek white surface. Contrasted with the sharp blankness of the car, Parker was a study in earth with russet skin like the rough volcanic cliffs he and Evan used to climb, and eyes as dark as the blackness of the void reflected in their slice of ocean. His arm settled on top of the car's metal roof as soft as a petal, tatted bicep lightly tensed with only the passing thought of threat, just enough to make the music a little quieter and to make his smile a little sharper. 

"We've got our own goods, kālā kāne. Ones that don't need a fancy car to make them good."

The driver's door clicked open and shut so fast you could barely hear the safety locks click. Parker's languorous position tensed a moment too late, the previously silent driver arriving with a sharp, "Fuck off."

The driver was a short young Hispanic woman who wore her coat like a detective from an old noir tugged up her sleeve just the tiniest bit. The gesture was enough to catch Parker's gaze, and the puckered pink scars she bared were enough to get him to hold it. Both sized each other up, the woman not bothering to hide her hostility while Parker maintained his mountainous calm.

The provoking passenger waved them off with a yawn. "Sorry sweetie, just admiring your mother's work on that piece of art, must be a pretty lady. Lovely van you have there, is it vintage? And Cecilia, hon, was turning on child lock and stealing my designer pepper spray necessary? We're paid interns, not hitmen."

Cecilia tied back her hair, managing to flex all her rangy neck muscles before finally sliding back into the car.

"Same difference, " she muttered, donning oversized aviators that perched just above her not quite gaunt cheeks. 

"If by vintage you mean old as balls, yeah. I'm assuming you two are here to compete as well?" Evan interjected conversationally before Parker could work out the extent of innuendo in the stranger's sentence. 

"We're with Puissance Florale Puissante," Cecilia responded coolly, tucking the un-shaved half of her purple-streaked hair behind an ear that must be more hole than cartilage. 

Evan and Parker reeled back, the extravagance suddenly making sense. Puissance was the oldest florist in New York, said to have been founded by tulip smugglers. Any hint of an unsavory past disappeared in a pile of prestige and money miles high and millions wide. Only Puissance could send two glorified petal pushers to compete in the Rose Parade. They had arranged for both Princess Diana's and Princess Kate's wedding, and had moved people to tears with the black tulip mille-fleur casket bouquet for the King of Thailand's wedding. New York's giant, gaudy floral parades must be small fries for the floral emperors.  
Cecilia shook them out of their reverie by revving the engine and blasting obnoxious hipster coffee shop rock.   
Her passenger scowled at her and then yelled apologetically, "Sorry, Napoleon Complex here is feeling antsy. See you on the floor! And hopefully mine."  
Evan jogged alongside the car as they pulled away, debating whether he wanted to ignore the last part or not. "It's cool, what's your name? Maybe we cou-"  
He was cut off by Cecilia hitting the gas with a triumphant smirk, her flannel and the mysterious hot person's coiffed hair streaming in the wind as they squealed around the side of the convention center. 

"Assholes," Parker laughed, hauling up Evan with a grin.

"Really hot assholes."

"Jeez, I am infecting you. The hipster demon or the flirtatious princex?"

"I feel like there's a word stronger than flirtatious that would fit."

"Borderline lecherous?"

"Close enough."

Parker laughed again and pulled Evan into a loving headlock. Evan responded by collapsing Parker's legs and driving an elbow into his side. They hit the concrete, then got up, groaning. 

"Okay, can we agree to wait until we get back to Anna's beer garden before hyper-masculine wrestling contests? Because all of the people here look like they're going to call the police or join in, and the ground is punching harder than you ever could, " Evan moaned, massaging his hips.

"Yes, as long as you don't fuck the competition."

"You're just mad because they thought I was hotter."

"No man, that fierce Cecilia chick was definitely hitting on me," Parker answered sardonically, hopping into the van before gently shutting the door.  
Evan slid in the other side and soothingly patted the van's grumbling dashboard until it rumbled into life. "You mean about to hit you?"

"Kulikuli!"

"'Ōkole pupule."

"What are we, five?"

They continued to cuss each other out in mellifluous Hawai'ian all the way to the auditorium, where their fellow floral designers eyed them in a heady concoction of confusion, admiration, and wonder at their exotic language and light burden. Parker and Evan became increasingly uncomfortable with their empty arms as they watched others bent under the weight of prototypes and sample arrangements.  
Everyone settled into their seats with great tension. If they could not sell their concept to the judges and procure a charity patron, they would be shipped back to whatever corner shop they had crawled out of. Teleflora and 1-800 couldn't be bothered by this step, but all the small businesses needed to prove themselves worthy of a donor. The best donors, like the American Heart Association had both money and the emotional appeal that would pull on judges' heart strings. Most only had one or the other, but designers kept their designs purposefully bland to accommodate any of the necessary flagrant brand promotions that their donors would require.

The lights dimmed, and the first presenters went up. Evan leaned back and ran a hand through his hair as he watched them set up a full palette of expensive calla lilies and concept sculptures for a whimsical wonderland filled with gallivanting animals. Parker tossed their usb drive from hand to hand, a rhythmic, worried gesture.   
Hours later, Pussiance took the stage with the air of Genghis Khan viewing his sure conquests. Faint strains of off-beat electronic music with a vaguely oriental feel chimed in time to the measured steps of the fashionable hipsters from before. The stage began to flash with pink lasers, illuminating something covered in thick black fabric.  
Cecilia began to talk, startling Evan and Parker with her near invisible headset. "I am Cecilia, head technician and this is my designer, Eden. On behalf of Pussiance Florale Pussiance, we bring you the next innovation in the Rose Parade."

Eden took the reigns from there. "For this year's winning float, we incorporated aspects of one of the most ancient cultures on Earth. America had long been fascinated with elegant palate of ancient Japan, and here we took the best of both worlds."

Cecilia yanked back the heavy fabric effortlessly, revealing a to-scale prototype with miniature flowers. It was graceful and minimalistic, featuring gentle curves of pink tea roses and cherrywood lines that hung impossibly in gentle arches. All of it swayed underneath a gentle rain of sakura petals.  
Parker rocked back in his seat, with only a long, low whistle to gauge his reaction.

Evan leaned over and whispered, "It's a weeb float."

"And a damn good one too."

Soon their fabulous presentation was over, and a judge called for "Aloalo Hibiscus". Cecilia knocked Parker with her shoulder on the way down, a wicked and smug grin opening like a slit on her face. Parker rolled his eyes. Back in Haleiwa, power plays like were few and far between. It was a small town, and most people were trying to make a living. It didn't hurt that anything you did in the morning would be known all over town by sundown. Evan, the sweet kid that he was, only participated if his invisible masculinity points were at stake. But here in New York, people were angry and cooped up in their own isolation, with no one to hold them responsible for petty injustice. It made Parker angry, but he clutched it tightly in his chest. Evan needed Parker to be his 'akumakua, his guide, and Parker wasn't going to let some short devil in a too-big jacket mess that up.

Parker twitched the microphone closer to his mouth and took a deep breath. "Hi."

The audience mumbled assorted greetings, looking discomfited and bored.

"Are you alive?"

More mumbles. Before Parker could launch into their PowerPoint, dragging their audience behind him, Evan tapped his shoulder two times. Parker acknowledge his signal and stepped back.

"Sorry, hopefully no one back home catches wind of this," Evan hissed in his ear, and then turned to greet the audience with his secret, sweet smile that promised nothing more than himself, but nothing less either.

"Aloha people! I am very glad to be here, but I'm afraid your weather isn't."

The audience perked up, sated by commiseration and cheesy tourist bait.

"While I have seen some truly gorgeous floats today, I so far haven't seen anything with heart. My brother and I built our shop with our hands and hearts, and today we want to show you a design that embodies that philosophy. Please put your hands together for the one, the only, Heart of Hawai'i!"

Applause swelled as a simple sketch filled the screen behind them. It was a simple float, covered with a gradient of roses that framed three artfully placed podiums. At the end was two clasped hands, one of dark hibiscuses and the other of brilliant white daisies.

"Here we will display the beauty of love, and not just the Hollywood norm. This will be a monument to all love, no matter the shape or expression. The podiums will be covered in bigger-than-life replicas of real people and how they love, done in a variety of flowers that will allow detailed reproduction. Thank you for having us, and support our dream if you can."

With that, Evan fled the stage, slightly overwhelmed by the critical eyes of the judges and cutting glares of their competitors. Parker trotted behind, watching to make sure his little brother was okay.

The auditorium emptied into the ballroom. Florists milled about, unused to being served and catered to at an event just like the ones they decorated. Occasionally a donor would approach a cluster, and one lucky face would light up with the sudden influx of money and chance. Parker watched as Evan easily slid into a technical discussion of using wine bottles as vases, and watched with a lopsided grin as he slowly migrated towards Eden. When he determined that Cecilia wasn't going to outwardly attack Evan, and that Eden didn't look too interested, Parker slipped out the exit and into a dingy, smoke-blackened alley. After his cursory scan of the area, he leaned against the crumbling brick opposite the door and lit up a cigarette. The warmth of nicotine eased the pressure of being surrounded by buildings upon buildings of people crammed like sardines, but the smooth, starless sky unnerved him just the same. As his headache abated, the door clicked open and shut quietly. Parker opened his jet-lag weighted lids to eye the newcomer. A caterer, slightly shorter than Parker slipped out, visibly relaxing when the door eased shut behind him. 

"Dislike of crowds can't be helpful in your profession." 

The caterer jumped, his tan, open face expressing a depth of panic that told Parker nothing good had ever happened in an alley. He whipped around, brandishing a cheese knife in steady hands. Parker caught his flying hands, and then suddenly found the world going upside down. He found himself laid out on the ground, chest pushed into the grimy pavement and arm held upward at a treacherous angle.  
"Oh dear, Gail is going to get blood all over our uniforms if she sees this, I won-"

"I'm not trying to mug you, dude. I'm here with the florists."

"You don't look like a florist..."

"Says the big buff guy who doesn't like crowds but works as a server."

"Fair point. Okay, I'm going to let you up, but please don't kill me."

Parker felt the pressure ease out of his arm, and slowly rolled to his feet with his hands raised. His attacker was a pert, white face with deep black eyes and a shy smile. Parker quietly admired the parallel curve of cheekbone, cheek, and collarbone, vaguely wondering how to capture it in flowers and foliage. He'd need a lot of copper wire, and no flower had the strangely pleasing smell of sage, nutmeg, and worn leather.  
The man shifted under his gaze, his hands fluttering to his apron and blazer to no avail. Parker couldn't help the grin that slid over his face as he watched the other's eyes trace the chiseled line of his bicep over and over again.

"Nice move, very effective."

"Oh! Thank you. Did it feel okay? I'm used to padded floors, not concrete."

"I don't think the point of a pin is comfort."

"But it is! Every opponent is a book, to be checked out carefully and returned without the spine bent out of shape."

"Well, you checked me out well."

Parker boomed with laughter at the caterer's blush, and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. He twitched, but didn't move away, Parker's more relaxed attitude to psychical contact marking him as a foreigner.  
"My name is Adam, by the way. Do you do martial arts?"

"BJJ, mostly just as a way to beat up my brother without whacking him out of shape."

"Grappling isn't my style, needs too much upper body strength, though I see you have that covered."

Parker was about to remark on his boldness, but realized that Adam was referring to his tattoo. It was the Hawai'ian mark of strength.

"How do you know the language?"

Adam blushed again, rubbing the back of his neck. "I want to learn to perfectly cook a dish from every country in the world. I got a little carried away when I got to the H's. Catering isn't my end goal, and you guessed."

"And what is?"

Adam's gaze went soft and inward, reminding Parker of Evan's focus face, but without the hidden intensity. "I want to teach how to cook other people's food. Everyone is always so angry, and maybe a way to teach peace is to share a meal that has a bit of their history in it. It's always easier to understand and come to terms when your belly is full with your hosts' cooking."

"That's beautiful."

"Not as pretty as flowers."

"Pretty doesn't fill bellies, though I'm feeling a little fuller right now."

Once again they lapsed into warm, happy silence, both fed by the passion and pursuant of each other's dreams. Parker's smoke drifted into the air, carried away by the cold, pure breeze of Adam's breath. After a few moments of comfortable quiet, Adam turned with a sudden rush of bravery.

"Hey, may-"

The door slammed open, and Evan leapt out and pounced on Parker.

"THE AMERICAN HEART ASSOCIATION!! WE DID IT!"

Parker whooped and spun Evan around. He clapped and stomped on the pavement, unable to express the sudden excitement that being just a little bit closer to their dreams brought. With another howl of happiness he planted a kiss on Adam's cheek, then twirled inside with Evan in a hurricane of validation and relief. Adam was left out in the cold, with only a spark on his cheek and a bright blue business card to act as kindling in his hand.


	2. Feeling Thorny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last night before judging, and tensions are high, and not just competitor tensions either. It's big sibs versus little sibs, and hopefully the night will end with more hookups and less hang ups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Sunday! Sorry about coming angst, but fluff is better in contrast ;')

Evan dodged another flying shipment of carnations, flipping off the careless delivery men. 

"If any of these stems are snapped, I'll snap your spine, " Evan shouted companionably. 

Parker grunted a pained laugh as he finished up the first giant panel that would cover the float surface, the heavy wires crushing his legs. Evan's insults and threats made him friends, as the workers' weary smiles displayed. A words like those would cause them to shrink from Parker, and he feared that Evan admired that quality in him. Parker ran a hand through his hair. The sooner Evan could accept that his likeability wasn’t just femininity, and that femininity wasn’t evil either, they could both take a nap. 

Evan promptly fell on his face, bundle of dahlias held precariously to the side. 

“I’m fine!”

“I’m finer,” Parker yelled back, voice slightly muffled by the yellow ribbon bouquets. Evan rolled his eyes and went back to work on the giant stucco hands. He had finished the wiring at 10:40 pm last night, and had been stuccoing since then. Parker had slept, because no matter how many chocolate covered coffee beans he ate, sleep deprivation gave him short term memory loss and the attitude of a bear rudely awoken from hibernation. 

They had managed to cover all of the basic float in all it's rose rainbow glory with the help of their handy team. The platforms where perfectly placed in the golden trio, circumference and location determined by Evan's coveted mathematic perfection. Of course he had had one of the helpers do the actual math, but it was still his style. The wire framework of the hands were growing out of the end of the float, flowers slowly covering as the stucco dried up top. Parker tied up the last of the yellows and began to sketch out ideas for the platforms. So far the last week had lent nothing but frustrated or sappy scribbles, but he was still hopeful. Ideas had a way of appearing when you least expect it, like when he had found Evan making out with the shaved ice girl. Parker shuddered. Bad analogy, he vaguely remembered flaming coconuts afterwards. 

"Hey, Genderfluid Mafia Boss! Get me today's pronouns and some more twelve gauge please."

Evan's nicknames for the team were rarely short but always entertaining. Mafia Boss' Bean Boy replied with, "She/her sir, we're out for lunch. Need another Punch to The Face espresso?"

"Hell yeah, and don't come back for another hour. I need to stare at this until it bends to my will."

"Thanks br- boss."

Evan and Parker continued to work in companionable silence, notions like "rest" and "reasonable work hours" disappearing under the weight of work that must be done and the glacial approach of fatigue. Tonight was the last night, and then judgement. Parker and Evan could sign up for the surgery that very day if they wanted to. That amount of money could give him more than superficial comfort. Leftovers could finally fix the cranky air conditioner, maybe even buy another floral cooler. Nani and Mo could get a raise, and maybe he and Evan could get separate apartments. For their separate, non-existent sex lives. 

 

A shock of black hair peered out, followed by the bright smile of Adam and the ever present sweet shadow of Gail. “Hungry?” Adam called, lofting his tray of Cuban paninis and fresh curried vegetables. The gesture lifted up the tight t shirt just enough to expose the gentle curve of his stomach.

 

Speak of the devil, hell yes he was hungry. Maybe a little thirsty too. 

 

Gail strode in, throwing her arm over Adam’s shoulder easily. Parker was used to Bueno around strong women, but he wasn't used to be around women that could prop their elbows on his shoulder with ease. Gail had so far been calm, surveying Evan and Parker with the air of one familiar with the dynamic that came with brotherhood, and the secret pains encoded in each word. Adam’s hesitant advances, however, had been quickly cut off. Parker did not appreciate this. He let Evan date people, no problem. It must be a New York thing.

 

Evan watched all of this flash across Parker’s jaw and decided to intervene. He could gently probe until he found the heart of her judgment and resolve their strange battle of arms and Adam. Maybe then with Parker distracted he could go find Eden.

 

Adam shrugged off Gail’s arm. “Hey Gail, why are you being so possessive?”

 

Or well, there's that option too.

 

Gail langoriously stretched out her spine, vertebrae snapping and crackling with the sininous movement. Gail and Adam may not have been related, but they both shared a certain mellifluous quality in their movements that was only threating at the right angle. Gail was all angles.

 

“I'm not. Just making sure the stress doesn't get to anyone.”

 

“Cut it out Gail, we both know you just don't like people you can't beat up.”

 

Gail swiveled to stare at Parler. Ah. This was a test, and Parker had never been good at open-response. He went with the honest answer.

 

“He did kick my ass when I first met him, but I'd be happy to kick your ass if it makes you feel any better.”

 

Instantly Gail’s face lit up. She bobbed quickly in assent, weight shifting into her toes and hands fluttering upwards. Competitive happiness bound tightly to her sense of protective older sister love mixed and switched until only a look of smug satisfaction remained.

 

“Come on, dojo’s out this way.”

 

Parker looked toward Evan with a pleading question in his eyes. Evan rolled his eyes and then snapped his fingers, already returning to his work. 

 

As the trio exited, Adam safely tucked in front of his two wind breakers, Gail asked when they needed to be back.

 

“Evan said I needed to make it snappy, but hey, Evan thinks two in the morning is a reasonable bedtime. If I get back before midnight he’ll probably be able to stay awake for judging.”

 

Gail grinned in assent, and Parker felt a thrill of anticipation. Evan had always been the competitive one, but Parker was the true romantic. Fighting for Adam’s hand in dating would be a much appreciated de-stresser, and Evan was occupied to the point of not being able to get in trouble. It was shaping up to be an excellent last night in NY.

 

Back in the shop, Evan continued to work on the hands. The purple hand was starting to shade nicely without Parker around to tell him to “eat” and “sleep”. Those were for people who weren’t making giant gay hands out of delicate flowers and mosses. Evening descended with the satisfying competition of the hands. The team was remarkably effective for a bunch of city-slickers, and Evan had just needed to adjust the flowers to the point of perfection.

 

Outside, in the cold, wet darkness, Cecilia and Eden bickered.

 

“Eden. Your shirt is glowing.”

 

“I’m not you, madam monochrome. I enjoy a spot of color in my wardrobe.”

 

“A glowing black and white shirt that says ‘Plants are friends’ is A, not sneaky, and B, too ironic for a person that skinned about two hundred roses today.”

 

“Shh, we’re sneaking. Anyways, aren't you supposed to go watch the other ones?”

 

“No, you are.”

 

“Nope, you can push me into sabotaging another person's float so that we can get our own, not Alice-dominated shop, but you can’t steal my last few hours of admiring Evan’s ass. Besides, you’ll get to see tu ser querida.”

 

“I rescued you in El Paso from my old gang members seven years ago, and yet you still manage to sound like a gringa when you try and sweet talk me.”

 

“Then how come you make me sing ‘La Chica de mi Co-”

 

“Shh, just go then. Here's the salt sprayer, get in and get out.”

 

Eden snatched the spray bottle and zipped away, bright blond hair bouncing behind him as he skidded around the corner. Cecilia rolled her eyes with a smile and began to stroll back to the car.

 

Without further ado Eden clambered into the warehouse, then began spraying a mist of salt around them. The salt water would kill the plants without providing a traceable material. Everybody has salt, after all.

 

They had just finished up with the first strip of roses when a floral knife streaked its way through the air and dug into the wall next to their head.

 

Eden ever so slowly turned their head, ready to try and dazzle his way out of trouble with whatever cute employee happened to have caught him.

 

Instead, Evan stood across the room, hand clenched around a bunch of open knives and chest heaving. Eden couldn't take their eyes off the slight, soft curve of flesh strangled under a tight white binder. 

 

A howl of rage tore itself from Evan’s throat as he launched himself across the room, screaming a battle cry that had been worn through from years of usage and hours of tears. 

 

“STOP. STARING.”

 

Eden pressed themself against the wall and speed-dialed Cecilia.


End file.
